One with Realms Eternal This My Soul

One with Realms Eternal this my soul to make; what wouldest say?
All Creation's empire's fancies to forsake; what wouldest say?

Wearing to a hair my frame with bitter sighs and moans, in love,
Nestling in the Fair One's tresses, rest to take; what wouldest say?

Yonder gold-faced birds within the quicksilver-resplendent deep:
Launching forth the hawk, my striving, these to take; what wouldest say?

Yonder Nine Smaragdine Bowls of Heaven to quaff at one deep draught,
Yet from all ebriety's fumes free to break; what wouldest say?

To an autumn leaf the Sphere hath turned Khiyâlî's countenance;
To the Spring of Beauty, that a gift to make; what wouldest say?